Chapter Two

Christmas

Christmas at the Blacks was always a rather grand affair, with the most expensive decorations money could buy, icicles that hung from the ceiling and delicate silver ornaments around the place. Cedrella liked to watch her two sisters, Charis and Calladora putting up the decorations while tucking herself away on the sofa with a book to read. Naturally, however, this wouldn't be permitted.

"Cedrella! Put yourself to some use for goodness sake girl, your magic is of much more use that Charis' magic is, she keeps breaking things!" her dad complained, he himself sitting on another sofa reading a newspaper. Charis blushed red as yet another bauble fell from the tree.

Cedrella rolled her eyes and waved her wand, effectively decorating the whole tree at once. She had always been the brains in the house – even the sorting hat had considered putting her in Ravenclaw, not that she was about to tell her family that.

"There," she said, smiling at her younger sister Charis, "all done."

Charis glared, "I could've done that myself," she snapped, spinning on her heel and storming off to her room. Cedrella sighed. That was the last time they'd see her for another week unless her father forced her down.

It was at that precise moment when her mother decided to make an appearance, wearing her usual frown. "You cousins and aunts are coming for Christmas lunch tomorrow," she announced.

Cedrella couldn't help the sigh that escaped, she really couldn't. She closed her book with a snap and leant backwards. Her own family were bad, but her cousins and aunts were as stuck up as they came. Forget the airs and graces that Cedrella had picked up, the rest of the Blacks thought they were royalty.

"Cedrella!" her father snapped, "Don't sigh in that infuriating manner. One would think that you don't like your family." One would be right, though Cedrella bitterly, "You should be proud," her father continued, "We're a pure blood family. Not many can say that for themselves these days."

"Pure blood." Cedrella tested her sentence before saying it aloud, knowing the effect it would have, "What difference does that make?"

Her mother almost chocked on air, "What difference does it make?" She paled, "It makes all the difference, we're better witches darling, we're of a higher class, we're pure bred and they're mongrels."

I thought so too Cedrella said to herself, but there's no proof anywhere that the Blacks can produce better magic than muggle borns.

She had been looking into it, after that Weasley boy had haunted her thoughts, with his pride despite his blood status.

There's no proof that we're better than them, she thought, no proof that this grandeur isn't just a delusion.

Sometimes, Cedrella Black was too clever for her own good.

"Sorry mother," she said aloud, rather mechanically, "I was being ridiculous. Of course it makes a difference, it's all the difference in the world."

Her mother looked satisfied and went about polishing the chandelier.

Septimus Weasley's favourite time of the year was Christmas, although with six older brothers it was always a hectic and expensive time for their mother and father who had to scrape up the money to buy enough food for them all. They always managed in the end though and Christmas dinner was always the best meal of the year.

That particular Christmas his father had been late home from work the shop he'd recently found employment at in hogsmeade. The cold had chilled Septimus as the door opened and his father came in, smiling at the turkey out on the table, his face still slightly blue from sweeping snow outside of the shop all day.

"Black wouldn't let me leave until the whole place was completely clear," his father said, explaining his lateness.

"You should have told him that you have a family waiting for you darling!" his mother scolded, taking his coat.

"I did, but he thinks I should be grateful he's given me a job at all, being a blood traitor and all. Apparently he has a family to get to as well but you wouldn't catch them complaining. Well it's no wonder is it? Poor kids, with a dad like that I wouldn't want him home either," he muttered.

Septimus's brain wandered, once again, to Cedrella Black. Was that true? He wondered what her Christmas was like. Probably grand and expensive admittedly, but somehow he doubted it was quite the same.

Septimus was right, Cedrella's Christmas was grand and expensive, but not quite the same. She spent all day avoiding her relatives and then when they caught up with her, conversing with them about topics that didn't mean anything to her, such as the Ministry of Magic and the bank. Her cousins shot her disapproving looks every time she went near them and she still had no idea why - perhaps it was because she had a book tucked under her arm, but really, how else was she expected to make it through the day?

When evening came and the adults sat down with a glass of wine each, Cedrella was allowed to open her presents which she did with a lot of fake smiles. Expensive clothes and jewellery were beautiful… but they meant nothing to her.

A/N Please review!